


Burn Like Stars

by Helena_Hathaway



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: ABSOLUTELY GUARANTEED HAPPY ENDING, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asshole!Gerard But not really, Depression, Disability, Disabled Character, Happy Ending, I guess Movie Theater AU isn't like a popular trope?, Injury Recovery, M/M, Past Character Death, Physical Disability, Swearing, Wheelchairs, just like so much swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2020-07-29 12:34:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20082280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helena_Hathaway/pseuds/Helena_Hathaway
Summary: It’s been six months since the accident. The physical pain isn’t quite gone yet, and the emotional pain isn’t going anywhere anytime fast. Gerard doesn’t want to forgive, but that only grows the bitterness inside of him. He’s not the same as he was, and it’s not for the better. He barely leaves the house anymore. His optimism has wallowed into nothingness. All Mikey wants is for Gerard to open up again, to get back on his feet… well, in a manner of speaking.





	1. I Was So Bitter

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Runaways by All Time Low, chapter titles will come from the same place.

“I’m not a fucking slap bracelet if that’s what you’re trying to determine,” Gerard says. 

“This isn’t even a weird stretch, Gerard. You really need to leave that aggression at the door,” Ray says, sighing as he lets go of Gerard’s knee. Always the same with this one, an absolute fucking delight of a person. 

“I told you I felt it, why’d you have to bend me like an inflatable car dealership man?” Gerard looks at Ray, whose bent over his leg, bending it in a way that looks ridiculous to Gerard.

“I literally told you that I had to bend it _because_ you felt it, Gerard.”

“I don’t like the way it feels,” Gerard says. Ray wants to slap him in the face right there. _Doesn’t like the way it feels_. You felt it at all, didn’t you motherfucker?

Ray points to a spot right above Gerard’s knee, “You know, if I were to just stab you right here you’d probably like that less, but only one of those two options are designed to help you, and if you keep being a dick to me, I might conveniently forget which is which.” Ray, with a look of total seriousness on his face looks up at Gerard, who has crossed his arms. The look on Gerard’s face is defiant with the dare in his eyes. It reads so clearly. Injure me, I need some sort of income to pay for my bills and the lawsuit would do just fine.

“I wish so much that I could kick that stupid look off your face right now.”

Ray doesn’t say anything at that, he’s definitely not worried of that happening any time soon. He just bends Gerard’s leg the way he’d been trying to do in the first place. Gerard doesn’t resist as much this time. Maybe it’s because he’s run out of comebacks, or maybe it’s because he knows Ray is actually trying to help him, but either way he only relents with a look of utter distaste on his face. He does the same for several minutes, bend it, put pressure here, do you feel that? Well how about this? Gerard responds with a mixture of fart sounds and some really hardcore moaning.

The room isn’t not full, like there are a couple of other people who are also being treated so Gerard is definitely making it a spectacle. Odd, usually Gerard hates being a spectacle. Right now, he wants everyone to know that he’s just a really shitty person. 

“You know what, I think we’re done for the day,” Ray says after Gerard calls him daddy for the second time. 

“But I need the good doctor to give some feeling to this lifeless body,” Gerard says, and bats his eyelashes at him so convincingly that Ray actually feels acid rise in his throat, ready to eject right onto Gerard’s smug goddamn face. Wouldn’t that put him in his place, though? If only. 

“I’m ignoring that,” Ray says, and then grabs his clipboard and begins flipping through his notes. “Ready for the survey?”

“I didn’t study, do you think there’s anything I can do for… extra credit,” Gerard licks his lips, really trying to pin down that porn star audition tape he’s gunning for. People have weird kinks, there’s a market for him yet. 

Ray rolls his eyes. Just a regular Wednesday. “Moving on. Sleeping?”

“With you? I would love to!” But the truth is he’d rather swallow a porcupine whole.

“No, _are_ you sleeping?” Ray corrects, even though he knows that Gerard knew exactly what question he was asking. 

“Oh yeah, all the time. I thought about selling the Ambien to pay for Felicia’s boob job, but I love the feeling of being dead for eight hours just too damn much.”

“Ah yes, Felicia, what was she again? A stripper? A car wash attendant?”

“She’s a ballerina by day, but a dominatrix by night,” Gerard replies. 

“Wow, I’d love to meet her once they give me the mushrooms I’ve been asking for to get through my appointments with you. That’s the only way I’d be able to talk to your imaginary friends.”

“She’s lovely, makes a mean paella.” Ray writes in his notes that Gerard is sleeping just fine. Afterall, if it really were bad, he’d probably be an asshole in a different way. Gerard has two types of assholes behind his personality. Either he’s an asshole that wants something from you but is too much of a dick to ask for it nicely, and an asshole who does it because he is just a bitter asshole. 

“Normal appetite?”

“The only thing I hunger for is your-”

“Nope, no, no, definitely not, we’re not going down that road.”

“Spoil sport. My appetite is fine.”

“Cool. You ready for the awkward questions?”

“If you’re trying to ask me whether my dick works or not, you don’t need to beat around the bush, my ears aren’t going to fall off from the depravity of it. Without the sugar that makes the medicine go down, it gets happy when you rub it. Less crass, I guess maybe it’s a little more difficult for me to get to where I want to be, but all it takes is a little effort and some cold, hard, lubed up dedication. Oh, and a photo of you never hurts.” Gerard winks.

“Wow I want to burn my eyeballs, and it was only a mental picture you painted.”

“You’re the one who wants to know about my dick,” Gerard replies, because in fairness, Ray asks him these questions all the time and there’s only so many times you can say it works kind of okay before it gets tedious. People don’t like to _talk_ about their dicks, they just like to _play_ with them. 

“Gerard, I know this might seem a little uncomfortable to talk about, but this is important in determining how your recovery is likely to span out.”

“It’s not uncomfortable. Who doesn’t want to talk about their dick to a doctor every other week? I’m fine, it’s totally fine. Next you’re going to ask about my shit.”

“Do you want to talk about your shit? Is that what you want, Gerard, because, like I’m here to help you, and make your body work better, and if you want to talk about shitting then we can, because it’s kind of important, but I have a feeling you’re just being a jackass,” Ray says, which is fair.

“You’re my doctor, are you supposed to be calling me a jackass?”

“I’m your physical therapist, Gerard, not your doctor. If I was your doctor I would be paid way more to put up with you.”

“Oh fuck you,” Gerard says.

“I love our little chats,” Ray says, rolling his eyes.

“My shitting is great, Ray.”

“You know what, Gerard, this isn’t even sarcasm, but I’m happy for you. Maybe less shit will come out of your mouth that way.”

“Christ,” Gerard says, shaking his head, “I hope you die.”

“If it brings me the sweet escape from you, I will invite Death for afternoon tea.”

“Oh my god, you’re such an asshole,” Gerard says, putting his fingers to his temples, and rubbing them there for a second. 

“Back at you,” Ray replies. He looks back down at his clipboard and determines that Gerard’s not going to give him any more than he already has. Three days a week and this is about how far they make it every time. It’s all going to be fine, Ray tells himself. Gerard will level out, that’s what he keeps telling himself. Ray scribbles notes that only a doctor could read, while Gerard makes faces at him, waiting for Ray to finish up. When you live an already tedious life, boring things are just unsaintly. Finally, he looks up and then down at Gerard, who’s still lying on the ground, right where Ray had left him. 

Ray sighs, then remembers to lighten up a little because the worst part is over. “So, jackass, was it Chipotle or Panera?”

“I just want a Big Mac.”

“Listen, Gerard, as your physical therapist, I’m not letting you shovel anything with that many calories into your mouth.”

“What about as my best friend?” He bats his eyelashes all pretty and doe like, and Ray could punch that innocence right off of his face without losing sleep. 

Ray sighs, very long and drawn out, “only if you don’t get fries.”

“Cool. Two Big Macs it is,” Gerard says, giving him an obnoxious grin. 

“Oh my god, you’re my stupidest patient I’ve ever had,” Ray says standing up, and looking around at the walls as if they’ll give him the advice he needs, but they won’t, because they’re assholes who only think about themselves. “Don’t tell Mikey I’m letting you do this. And we’re not doing it again for like another month.”

“That’s what you said last week when I wanted that onion blossom.”

“I wish I wasn’t such a fucking pushover. Just stay there while I go grab my keys.”

“Well, I’m not going to run away,” Gerard says, gesturing to the floor. He’s just sitting there, looking like a good little second grade boy who’s about to be read a story by his teacher, but instead he’s just a helpless twenty something who’s got too much pride to ask for help. He needs help, and it might just have slipped Ray’s mind that he needs help, but he’ll be damned if Gerard is going to say the actual word. 

“You going to say please, or is my job a thankless one?” Ray says, when he looks down at him, having realized his mistake. He does this for a living, helping people who struggle with the same things as Gerard, but six months in and he’s still not used to it being _Gerard_. Strangers, that’s fine, it’s sad and he wants to help them, but this is Gerard. It’s very different when it’s Gerard who needs help. 

Gerard shrugs, looking around him as if to see if there’s anyone here who could overhear the two of them. It would seriously damage Gerard’s cred if he were to say something nice to someone. He’s kind of got this reputation for being the biggest asshole at this clinic, and he’s really not ready to sacrifice that over some simple pleasantries.

“Pretty please,” Gerard says, once he determines there’s no one close enough to overhear, “help me up.”

Ray nods, accepting even this sarcastic response as a win for his team. He walks over to where he left Gerard’s chair, by the wall that doesn’t give any advice. He wheels it back, and then comes the unceremonious bit where he has to lift Gerard from the floor into the chair. It’s definitely not fun for either party involved, Ray sticking his hands right under Gerard’s armpits and then drags him up. All the actual effort is given to Ray, because it’s not like Gerard’s legs are going to help any. Gerard would never admit to needing help, or at least, not from Ray anyway, but he really hasn’t got the upper body strength for this particular endeavor yet. He’s working on it, but Gerard’s _life_ is a work in progress. 

The end result is always disappointing, though. Gerard claws out of his bed, into the chair. Gerard claws out of the bathtub, into the chair. Gerard claws out of the car, into the chair. Gerard is pulled off the floor, into the chair. It’s always the same goddamn thing. Congrats! Now you’re just in a new trap. The fucking wheelchair.

“Hey buddy,” Gerard says, talking to the wheelchair itself, and patting the arm rest, “long time no see.”

“You two keep it PG while I grab my stuff, okay?” Ray says, and Gerard waves a hand at him, a ‘get lost’ sort of gesture.

Gerard sits there. An awfully overrated thing. Sitting. Very simple, a lot of people treasure it, but those people are pieces of shit, and Gerard doesn’t want to be friends with them. He reaches around him for where he left his phone. Not in his pockets, because Ray doesn’t let him keep his phone in his pocket during their sessions. The first time, it was a “do you have a flat dick or are you just really excited to see me.” To which Gerard had replied that that didn’t make any sense, and then after that Ray told him he couldn’t have it, because apparently he’s supposed to be paying attention during his physical therapy session, not playing Candy Crush Saga.

“Ah fuck,” Gerard sighs, when he determines he’s probably sitting on it. He doesn’t feel it underneath him. It’s not a pea and he’s not a princess. He doesn’t feel a whole lot of things below the waist, and that eats him up every single day of his life thank you for asking. This is where that arm muscle that he doesn’t have yet would really come in handy. First, being the smart cookie that Gerard is, he lifts his entire body with both arms, and then realizes he can’t grab his phone when both of his arms are being used to hold his weight up. The second try goes a little bit better, as he leans over to one side, finds the phone, and tugs on it, but his ass is crushing it, so it’s definitely a _mission_. 

“If you’re scratching your balls, I can come back another time,” Ray says when he walks back in to see Gerard’s hand all the way under himself. 

“Got it,” Gerard says, holding up the phone, victory on his face.

“At least you’re pretty,” Ray says, and goes to stand beside Gerard. That’s another thing about Gerard that you’ve got to learn fast. A well-intentioned person might mean to push Gerard’s chair, because surely it gets tiring having to push yourself all the time, but if you try to do this to Gerard he will run over your foot repeatedly and accuse you of trying to kidnap him. 

“Could you tell that to all the singles in the tri-state area?” Gerard says, and the two of them begin making their way to the elevator doors. They go past the other people who are receiving their physical therapy, and all of them seem to be in much better moods than Gerard, but that’s the way he wants it. Ray waves at a few of his coworkers, who all look at him and then at Gerard and they get that look in their faces. Oh, it’s _that_ guy. There was that one day when Ray was out of town, so Gerard was pawned off to someone else, and he almost made that guy cry. The only person who can bear him is Ray, and that’s probably because he’s known Gerard for over a decade. 

To be fair, Gerard didn’t used to be like this at all. Ray remembers happy, bubbly, carefree Gerard and it’s almost like two different people. Gerard was the most fun guy to be around in the whole world once. The two of them had dominated their own little circle. Gerard started the Magic the Gathering club on campus and to this day that’s his legacy. One time, he and Gerard drove all the way to Chicago during a long weekend because Ray’s mom had told him that she’d discovered the best pizza in the world there, and they wanted to prove her wrong because the pizza you could get at the convenience store by their apartment was the best pizza in the world. They had been wrong, that pizza in Chicago really was the best pizza in the world. 

But now, Gerard doesn’t even like going to the movies. Every now and then he or Mikey will be able to convince him to leave the house for something other than going to the doctor, or therapy, but there isn’t the same life inside of him. It used to be that he would talk about anything with a smile tugging at his lips. He was going out there, pitching his ideas to Cartoon Network or whoever would listen, and he was so vibrant. When he was pushing it on rent and could only eat Ramen, he just shrugged and that was fine, it was what it was. After the accident though, he just… lost who he was, lost what made him happy. 

He doesn’t really make art anymore. Back when he lived in his apartment, he had used the second room as his studio. You could hear the record player going and Gerard singing along from outside the front door. Now, it’s all the same. He lies in bed, reads a lot of books, while the record player gathers dust. Mikey had offered him his home office to use as a studio, but Gerard didn’t want it. Gerard has started watching soap operas? No one can explain it. Sometimes Mikey gets home from work and will just find Gerard watching The Young and the Restless, and it’s insane. Gerard didn’t used to do that. Sometimes it seems like he’s not even watching them, he’s just got the TV on and he’s staring at it for something to do, but he couldn’t tell you what’s going on. 

Every now and again, Ray will think about it all, and it gives him this uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. It’s like you get in a horror movie, when you know something bad has happened, only nothing bad is about to happen, it’s just a lurking feeling. Maybe it’s loss. Maybe it’s grief from the fact that Gerard simply isn’t himself anymore. Gerard wasn’t the one who died that day, but in a lot of ways, he was.

“You’re looking at me like that again,” Gerard says in the elevator, and it kicks Ray back into reality. He hadn’t even realized he had drifted. 

“I’m sorry,” he replies.

“Stop fucking imagining me with working legs, I can tell you’re doing it and I hate it.”

“I literally said sorry, what more do you want from me?” The elevator stops on their floor at that, and the doors open, to expose people standing there waiting, so Gerard cannot say what he really wants to say to Ray at this given venture. 

As they make their way towards the door to employee parking, Gerard snarls, “if you pity me one more goddamn time I swear to god I will take a nail gun to your face and spell out the word dick.”

“Oh, that one’s new, were you working on that one last night?” 

“Yes, if you want to know, I made a list.”

“Any other highlights I should be made aware of.”

“Um, off the top of my head… I’ll superglue your hands to your nipples or I’ll stick an Amazon Echo up your ass and ask it to play Deep Impact.”

Ray nods, and he presses the handicap button for the door before Gerard does that thing of trying to open it by himself and getting his chair stuck in the door. “Very colorful.”

“Well you know me, got nothing better to do,” Gerard says, and fuck if that ain’t the saddest shit you’ve ever heard.


	2. Heart to Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, did I forget to mention this fic is going to sometimes be depressing AF?

“What’s up booger brain?” Gerard says when he picks up the phone.

There’s a long pause before Mikey’s voice says, “Excuse me? Booger brain?”

“There’s like, a kid, sitting in the table behind ours, I can’t call you what I would like to call you.”

“Oh, fuck I knew it. Ray!” Mikey says loudly, so that Ray might hear him. “Ray Toro! Ray, can you hear me, Ray!”

“Um, he’s predisposed at the moment, I tied him up and left him in the car,” Gerard replies. He glances over at the kid in the booth behind theirs. He doesn’t seem to have noticed. Ray, sitting across from him, rolls his eyes, and reaches for the phone, before Gerard swats his hand away.

“I’m here, Mikey,” Ray says, a little louder than is politely acceptable, so the kid at the table behind them looks at him kind of funny. At least Gerard didn’t say fuck. 

“Ray, where are you right now, if you tell me Burger King, I swear to god I will put your testicles in a vice.”

“Okay, seriously, what is it with the Way family and overly colorful threats?”

“We share one brain cell,” Gerard shrugs.

“Yeah, only you’ve never asked for it back,” Mikey says, still not on speaker phone, but he’s just loud enough to hear, because he’s made it a point to be loud enough to hear. Hopefully the kid can’t hear him. Gerard is not a particularly good person, make no mistake, but he does have a certain piece of decency. 

“You’re at Burger King, though, aren’t you? I just know it.” This would be a dumb question if it were anyone else, but usually Gerard does prefer Burger King because they have onion rings, and Gerard just loved his ringed onions.

Ray and Gerard both look around them at the golden arches, and both, in tandem say, “no,” very slow and drawn out. Very casual, definitely nothing to suspect. 

“Oh I get it,” Mikey says, “McDonalds.”

Ray shrugs, and stuffs like six French fries in his mouth so that he doesn’t have to be the one to respond. 

“Ray, you’re a bastard and if I was looking at you right now, I’d put a curse on you.”

“Oh come on, Mikes,” Gerard says, “it’s not like one gosh diddly cheeseburger is going to kill me.”

“Your doctor literally told you not to eat fast food, Gerard.”

“What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him,” Gerard says, and he takes a big bite out of the burger that honestly you could rip from his cold dead hands, and he’d tell Mikey as much, that’s how much this means to him. Mikey, the scariest person he knows, who would literally beat Gerard up if Gerard were to try to hurt himself, which sounds counterintuitive, but Mikey has been the older brother since before Mikey was born and Gerard was literally already 3 years old. 

“It slows down your recovery, oh my god, I fucking hate the both of you. I literally even went to the store to buy us dinner, and there you go eating poison.” Gerard can tell he’s distraught, but he really doesn’t care right now, because this is all he wanted in this world, and now that he has this cheeseburger, he won’t ever be parted with it until digestion happens. 

“You’re not my mom,” Gerard says through a mouthful of onions, lettuce, and pure joy. He’s kind of annoyed with Mikey right now in a non-joking way, but he’s playing it off as a joke, because he’s not quite ready to be a real dick. Yet. 

“Gerard, mom is literally the person who told me to be so hard on you about this stuff. I’m literally just doing what she asks. But also, I agree. Like maybe one burger isn’t going to kill you or slow down your progress or whatever, but Gerard, like you literally keep having ‘just one order of tater tots’ or ‘just one slice of cake’ or all that other shit that you think I don’t know about, but like you’re really bad at hiding your Uber Eats bags. It actually has to stop, like this is becoming a problem”

“Oh screw you, stop being so like, caring and all this other bull- uh, bologna. I don’t need everyone to always be worrying about me.” There’s a child, Gerard, watch your fucking language. 

Mikey sighs, the sigh that Gerard knows very well. It’s the ‘no this itself isn’t a really big deal, but it’s everything that it all means in the long run that’s a big deal’ kind of sigh. Why does everyone care so much, he’s being an asshole to everyone, and it’s not so that people will get closer. 

“Mikey, I’m sorry,” Ray says, and Gerard looks very betrayed as Ray tries to pull the speaker closer to him, which Gerard refuses. “Ugh, Mikey, if you can hear me, I’m going to stop letting it happen. I’ve been a bit of a pushover.”

“You absolute snot eating buttface,” Gerard says. There’s a _child_ present. 

“Thank you, Ray,” Mikey shouts so that he’ll be able to hear him which prompts Gerard to pull the phone away from his face and overdramatically grasp at his ear. “Gerard, get home soon, though, ‘cause we need to have a talk.”

“Are you breaking up with me?”

“Oh my god, you just can’t take anything seriously, can you?”

“I can, it’s just that I’m not going to take anything seriously coming from you.”

“You’re a fucking dildo,” Mikey responds.

“That is usually what you _do_ with those.”

“Finish your fucking diabetes bomb and come home, asshole.”

“You’re really giving me incentive not to come home.”

“Get home as fast as y-” Gerard hangs up there, and he’s going to regret that later, but he really is trying to grow into this new personality he’s been cultivating where he gets everyone who loves him to question why they love him. And the sad answer to the question no one asked is that he doesn’t love himself anymore so why should anyone else?

“Did you just hang up on Mikey effing Way?” Ray says, looking like that moment when you realize your mom is about to walk in on you masturbating.

“I like to live life dangerously,” Gerard says before he takes a hit off of his diet coke, but it comes out of a straw, so he’s cool because straws kill sea turtles or some shit. 

“I don’t know what scares me more, the method he’s going to use to kill you, or your lack of fear from your death.”

Gerard rolls his eyes, “you worry too much. He’s going to chew me out, but what’s he going to do? Ground me? What’s that going to do? It’s not like I have a life to miss out on.”

“I don’t want to be there when you get home, but I have to drive you.”

“Let’s not go right away,” Gerard says, making a face. “Can we like, go to a bar or something? I need to be inebriated to face Mikey.”

“He just said…”

“Ray Toro, I have all this lawsuit money and nowhere to spend it.” Ray looks visibly disturbed by this one, and Gerard stares at him daringly for the several seconds it takes for Ray to open his mouth to respond.

“That was a really gross joke, Gerard,” Ray says. Gerard is always pushing the limits to see how much he can get away with. A normal person wouldn’t put up with any of that shit, but again, Gerard Way has been his best friend for like a solid third of his life, so he does put up with _some_ things. Not all things, though.

“Oh, calm down.” There’s something in his eyes when he says it. Something very defeated. He’s gone through all of the depression, the loss, the heartbreak, the sorrow. He tries to excuse it away as a joke, but it’s not funny, and Ray doubts that even he finds it funny. There’s a certain point where you think you’ve cried all the tears you can. Gerard’s still yet to find that point. The funeral didn’t drain him, but maybe joking about it will. 

Ray doesn’t know what to say. How do you help your friend going through this kind of loss? When he came into this life, into this job, he was never supposed to help Gerard. He was never supposed to watch Gerard’s life fall apart, and lose everything, absolutely everything. 

“I lost her too, Gerard,” Ray says finally. 

Gerard won’t look at him. He’s all clenched jaw and low eyebrows, eyes aimed at the window. The sun is setting, but it’s not a pretty sunset. It’s just pale blue meeting the light hues. “Tough,” Gerard bites back.

“Maybe we do need a drink,” Ray responds.

Gerard doesn’t waiver in his attitude, even though he feels relief. His face is a waning moon with shadows falling haphazardly like a charcoal drawing. At least he can drink away the pain soon. Like it’ll go anywhere. 

Ray finishes up the last of his fries, while Gerard eats his cheeseburger, but like in an angsty sort of way. He skipped over that phase in high school, and was just the nerdy art kid, so now he’s really trying to catch up on this brooding stuff. He’s learned a lot from all of his soap operas, he really knows how to pull off the wounded warrior archetype. 

“Finish up, Gerard,” Ray says, standing up to throw away his trash while Gerard shoves the rest of his food into his mouth, which is definitely too much food, but he’s a trooper. He’d love to say he’s used to big things in his mouth, but he is not. 

“Only, like one drink, okay? ‘Cause I have to drive you back, and _I’m_ not going to drink anything.” Ray takes Gerard’s trash from him, and then Gerard wheels himself off behind him, not bothering to say thank you to Ray. 

“Um, that sounds like a you problem,” Gerard says, because he doesn’t see why the passenger can’t get as wasted as he wants when he’s not driving. To be fair, he’s glad. A year, two years ago, Ray would’ve had a drink with him, not enough to even be inebriated, but that’s not something either of them is comfortable with anymore. Gerard just hopes that alcohol will fill in the cracks inside of him.

“Text Mikey, to tell him where we are, okay? So that he doesn’t worry.”

“Will do,” Gerard says, and as he says so, he pulls out his phone and immediately turns it off. Mikey’s going to be an overbearing annoyance if the phone is still on, because he won’t like that Gerard is going to a bar, so Gerard can’t tell him that but if he leaves the phone on, he will probably call him in ten minutes when he’s not back yet, and then again every five minutes thereafter. Gerard doesn’t want to deal with that. He’d rather do anything in the world than deal with that.

Ray holds the doors open for him, but doesn’t try to push his chair, because of obvious reasons. Gerard is now full of food which makes him more alert, so he’ll punch you way faster. 

“Fuck! Shit! Cock! Dick!” Gerard says immediately as they exit the building. “God, it’s so hard to stop myself from swearing, I feel free as a bird now. Fuck!”

“You having fun there?” Ray asks.

“Always.” Gerard gives him the most insincere smile of all time. Ray could never possibly understand that Gerard hasn’t had fun in over six months and probably never will again. 

Gerard is not very good at listening, and that’s really not anything new. He was the kid that got in trouble all the time in elementary school because he couldn’t stop talking, and never heard what the teacher said. They had to physically move his cot away from other kids during nap time, because he would talk and wake other kids up.

He doesn’t listen, doesn’t like to play by the rules, and doesn’t get permission from anyone before he does anything. That’s how it goes, and that’s why Gerard rolls out of the bar so wasted that he doesn’t care that Ray is pushing him. To be fair, Gerard thinks that he is pushing himself, he’s just so fucking drunk that he hasn’t noticed Ray behind him. 

“One drink, Gerard, I said one drink.”

“No it was way more than that,” Gerard laughs. 

“Mikey’s going to kill me.”

“Not if I kill you first,” he says.

Usually, Gerard isn’t much of a help getting him out of the chair and into the front seat, but he’s way less help now. Ray has really built up his forearms by helping Gerard sit in various locations, so he’s able to pull Gerard into the seat without help, but it would be nice at least. Gerard lolls around a little bit in the front seat, manages to find the lever that adjusts the seat, so he falls all the way back, and then laughs uncontrollably while Ray gets the wheelchair into the trunk.

“Christ, Gerard,” Ray says, when he has to come back around to put the seat back up. Gerard, an asshole even when he’s drunk, does it again, falling back and laughing even more this time. 

“Alright, fine, whatever. You’re riding the whole way back like that then, jackass,” he walks all the way back around to the driver’s side, and Gerard looks just as ridiculous from this side as he does the other. 

“Mm, good night,” Gerard says, closing his eyes, and pretending to fall asleep, which is not effective because he keeps giggling.

“Mikey is gonna rip my head off, why did I agree to this,” Ray says to himself, and Gerard ignores him. He only looks up when he feels the car start to move, and to look out the window he has to fully pull himself up from what is almost a lying down position because of his goddamn seat. 

“Don’t take me home,” Gerard says as he looks out of the window. He seems quite a bit clearer now than he had just a few seconds back. Funny how consequences will sober you up pretty fast. “Pleeeease, I don’t wanna.”

“You have to, Gerard. Even though you texted him, Mikey’s still going to be worried about you.”

“I didn’t text him. Fuck that guy.”

“You what?” Ray says, literally almost slamming the breaks out of sheer surprise, or maybe terror. There’s quite a lot of play between Gerard and Mikey, a lot of silly “I hate you’s” and all that, but no one thinks it’s real. There’s also something that has only been showing up since the accident where Mikey is a little too overprotective, and a little too short with Gerard. They still joke around, but there’s a hint of seriousness behind it, just like Gerard’s joking is often used to mask the sadness behind the very jokes. This is a recipe for absolute chaos. Mikey was already pissed off about Gerard eating unhealthy, and now Ray is bringing him home completely off his tits, and two hours after he said they were coming back. 

This is only going to go one of two ways. Either they’re going to have a really big argument, or Mikey is going to be too defeated and disappointed to put up a fight. Either way, it’s gonna be bad, and it’ll be Ray’s fault.

“He’s always telling me what to do, and I don’t care. Screw him.”

“Stop saying that, Gerard. He’s your brother, you’re just drunk.” Ray is very worried. He’s not speeding, but he’s definitely not driving below the speed limit. He’s still overly cautious, because there’s always the possibility that someone as drunk as Gerard is out there driving, and that’s not a mistake you make twice.

“I just want to go to bed,” Gerard mumbles, eyes closed, and Ray thinks that he has spontaneously switched from adrenaline drunk to tired drunk.

“I’m taking you home,” Ray reminds him.

“No, not there.”

“Well where else would you go?”

“Anywhere but there.”

“What’s wrong with home?”

“So depressing. Mikey’s always like doing things for me, and his husband is like… I don’t know, won’t let me do anything for myself. Not even allowed to fold laundry. Fuck off.”

“So basically, they care a lot about you?”

Gerard groans, and rolls around in the seat, looking all of a sudden very surprised that his seat is all the way back. Ray sees him looking for the lever, but he can’t find it, and Ray’s not going to help him out because he got himself into this mess. 

Gerard is pretty much silent the rest of the way. He makes a few annoyed sounds when the car turns, and he asks Ray again not to take him home, but when Ray again says no, Gerard stops talking to him entirely. 

He knows they’re in big trouble when he comes upon the street and sees the front lights on. He drives slowly down the street, and as he gets closer he sees someone standing in front of the garage, pacing back and forth. _Big_ trouble. 

Mikey is looking at the car already by the time that Ray actually pulls into the driveway, and he’s so glad that it’s dark so that he can’t actually see the medusa look in his eyes. Ray puts the car in park, takes a deep breath, and looks over at Gerard, who’s crossed his arms, and has his head turned away from Ray, so he knows that Gerard is also unhappy with _him_. 

Ray has a split second where he stops, puts his hands on the steering wheel and thinks to himself for a moment. How much of this new personality is Gerard joking, and how much of it is real? There’s a lot of things he says which play as jokes, but there’s a very real chance there’s sincerity there, and that idea has scared Ray for quite some time, which is why he tries not to think about it. Gerard was his best goddamn friend in the world, and it’s hard to admit that someone has changed, but he’s unrecognizable.

Gerard was gonna start a band. He was going to learn how to play an instrument and bought himself a guitar which they both quickly learned was a bad idea, so he sold the guitar and bought a violin, and that went poorly too. He was going to create a startup, but he didn’t know what he was starting up. He was going to be a teacher. Then he was going to write comic books or make a board game. He was the struggling artist friend, and the guy who invited you to concerts you know he couldn’t afford. 

In their college apartment, there was a day when they hung fairly lights up in the living room, because there wasn’t a goddamn lighting fixture in there and Gerard got so mad at him, because Ray either wasn’t holding the tape measure right, or hammered a hole in the wrong place. Eventually Gerard just quit and stayed in his room for an hour. The next day, they got gyros and it was all okay again. They put up the fairy lights and watched a shitty Ben Stiller movie, and everything stayed the same.

You don’t really know what’s missing until it’s been months since you last had it. Like that one goddamn diner that they went to which had the best sauce in the world, and a month later it was gone, and they were heartbroken because they could never have that sauce again. There was always the promise of going to that diner next week to go dip fries in that sauce, but once they actually made it, they couldn’t. 

Ray might’ve taken for granted what having Gerard has meant to him all these years. They’ve always stayed close, even though Ray’s life went in a completely different direction than Gerard’s. Neither of them could ever really leave the other, so they decided to move back to Jersey together so that Gerard could be close to his brother, and they didn’t even share an apartment anymore, they just didn’t want to be in different cities. He’s always just been the default best friend. He could just show up at Gerard’s place for an impromptu Scooby Doo marathon and the only issue would be that Gerard hadn’t done the dishes so there was no bowl to put the popcorn in. 

Ray looks now at Mikey who is glaring at him from the light of the headlights and he knows that everything has changed. For the worst. Even if he could, Gerard would never hang fairy lights. He would get mad, and it wouldn’t brush off the next day. He wouldn’t move to a new town with Ray. He wouldn’t watch Scooby Doo. 

Gerard finds the lever on his seat and pulls it up, only to make a loud annoyed sound when his head pops up and he sees Mikey looking at him through the window. He doesn’t want to, but he opens the car door, while Ray walks around the car to the trunk to grab his chair. 

Mikey does not wait at all before he starts, “Gerard Arthur Way, what kind of a time do you call this?”

“Did you just middle name me?” He asks incredulously.

“What time do you think this fucking is?”

“What? I’m not allowed to do anything without telling you first?” He’s definitely feeling genuine annoyance. Ray comes around with his chair, and he’s almost too distracted by being annoyed at Mikey to process the trip from the car into the wheelchair. 

“I called you. Like thirty times. I asked you to come home, and then I wait three hours and you weren’t here. How was I supposed to know you weren’t dead? I thought you were driving him. What am I supposed to think? I worry, Gerard, I’m sorry. Is that okay with you?”

“You don’t need to be a dick about it, okay. I’m sorry, whatever. Next time I try to have a life, which I thought was what you wanted, I’ll consult you first.”

“Oh, that’s rich, Gerard. I’m here worrying about you, but you turned off your phone, because you knew I’d be worried, because I’m your brother and I have to be. Why would you do that? I thought there had been an… an accident. I was waiting for the call to tell me you didn’t make it this time.”

“Shut up,” Gerard says, and the aggression behind those words is not a joke. There’s something in the atmosphere, and the dark night closing in doesn’t make it any better. Ray looks around from the car, up the drive way and down the little path to the doorframe where he sees Pete. The two of them make eye contact, because they know that this is going to be a real one. This is going to be one of their real fights, the kind that startles birds.

“Excuse me?” Mikey says, and his teeth are almost bared. 

“Stop thinking you’re my mom,” Gerard shouts up at him, and his mind is pretty clear for a guy who’s drunk. Like, he knows he’s drunk, but he also knows he’s pissed at Mikey. The inhibitions are gone, it’s time to say how he really feels.

“You are so goddamn irresponsible that if I act any other way you’d die of malnourishment or stupidity, whichever comes first.”

“Oh, you think you’re so mighty and caring, because you have to take care of your poor crippled brother, but you’re not, you’re just some ableist piece of shit who babies me. I’ve got news for you, Mikey, I’m _your_ older brother, I don’t take orders from you.”

“You think I do all the stuff I do for you because I’m what? Some just elitist fuck who took pity? I’m your brother, and one of the only people who can even put up with you anymore. You think your such a goddamn hero for being all bitter and shitty to everybody, like pushing people away will make your life better, but it won’t.”

“I’m sorry I’m such a fuckup!” Gerard shouts, trying to wheel away from his brother, but Mikey follows. Ray isn’t sure what exactly he’s supposed to do. He did the whole, getting Gerard to his house thing, but he probably shouldn’t leave just because things are bad, and likely about to get way worse.

“Now you’re just gonna run away from me?”

“I _can’t_!” Gerard screams, and those are the loudest words to have been said yet. Gerard points down to his legs with exasperation. He wishes so much that he could stand up and run away into the night, but he can’t because he’s stuck in this chair. 

“What do you want?” Mikey yells back. “Sympathy? Because I’ve tried to give it to you, and it pisses you off. I try to give you space, and you fuck yourself over with it. I try to be your friend, but you push me away like leftovers. I can’t keep feeling sorry for you and not being allowed to or trying to help you and get called names. You’re my only brother in the world and I love you but god, I don’t think I like you at all anymore.” Gerard can see that Mikey is actually crying. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but he doesn’t care. _Good_, he thinks to himself, maybe now you’ll know what it feels like. 

“I don’t want you at all Mikey. That’s what you want to know? What do I want from you? Trick question, I want you to shove it. I’m sick of being, this, poor, ‘oh god my older brother was in an accident, now I look after him.’ I’m not a project, but you can’t let me be. I can’t eat a cheeseburger without you telling me I’m killing myself, or watch a TV show without ruining my life. Nothing I do is good enough for you,” Gerard is gross now too. He’s got tears on his face and snot leaking from his nose. Nothing is pretty nowadays, not his language, or his habits, or him.

“You want me to hate you so much, don’t you? You’re doing a really fucking good job of it.”

“Good!” Gerard says, and he wheels himself over to the front door, where Pete steps all the way out of the entry way, as if to hide elsewhere in the house, while he rolls himself up the ramp that Mikey installed so he could get in.

Mikey gives Ray a look, and Ray breaths in deeply, not quite ready for Mikey to explode at him too, but amping himself up for it. “Where the fuck do you think you’ve been?”

“We, he… he just wanted… it was just going to be one drink, I just, I’m sorry.”

“Oh great, so you got him wasted.”

“I didn’t mean to! He did that to himself.”

“I know he did, he’s self-destructive, Ray! That’s why you can’t give him a goddamn cheeseburger every time you see him or bring him to a bar. Hand him a noose next time Ray, why don’t you? Only a few hours ago, you said you’d stop being a pushover, and look what you fucking did, you let him push you over!” He screams. Yelling at Ray doesn’t make Mikey cry, because he’s _just_ pissed at Ray, whereas he’s pissed _and_ depressed about Gerard. Yelling at Ray might just be therapeutic. 

“I’m sorry,” Ray says.

“Sorry? What the fuck, Ray! Sorry enough to not answer your goddamn phone, when I call you?”

“My phone…? Shit. Mikey, I put it on silent for work. I didn’t know you called.”

“Oh, great, so the next time Gerard convinces you to piss me off, you won’t pick up then either. He’s the one in the goddamn chair, Ray, how is it always you that gets pushed around?”

“He said that he texted you,” Ray doesn’t think there’s anything he can possibly say that will make Mikey less angry with him. 

“You’re smarter than that. Just… just go away, Ray, you’ve already done enough damage.” As awful as it makes him feel, Ray couldn’t be happier to hear those words. He doesn’t want to be a part of this, doesn’t even want to touch it with a stick. He stands there for a minute longer, watching Mikey turn away from him and up the path. He slams the door shut behind him, and Ray is so thankful to be on this side of the door and not the other. It’s going to be a long night.

Mikey enters the living room, seeing Gerard sitting there, like he’s ready to kick back off with Mikey. Pete has found shelter in the dining room, but when he hears the door slam, he knows he should probably provide moral support to both parties, or maybe moral support isn’t the right word. He needs to make sure that one doesn’t kill the other. 

“I have done so much for you, Gerard,” Mikey says, breathing heavily as he tries to find his bearings through the weight of his tears, which have come back now that he’s looking at Gerard. “I let you live in my house, I threw out practically half of my furniture so you could live here at all.”

“Poor baby.”

“You don’t fucking get it, Gerard,” Mikey says, and he hears Pete walk in, though he can tell that Pete stays on the edge so that he doesn’t get caught in the crossfire. “It’s not about, like, god, it’s not about putting in a ramp, and remodeling the bathroom so that you can get into it, or fuck, selling all the furniture. Its about what it means, like, I did all that for you. So that you could live here, and so you could be with me, because I know it’s hard-”

“I never asked to live here, Mikey! I just couldn’t get back into my apartment.”

“I am trying so hard for you,” Mikey pleads. 

“What do you want, a medal?”

“I,” Mikey gasps, “I honestly just want my fucking brother back.”

“I’m right here, Mikey! Don’t like me anymore? Too bad, this is who I fucking am, you want a new brother, go to the store and buy one.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“That’s kind of the goal.”

“Well it’s a stupid goal,” Mikey says, kicking the couch in frustration before he puts his head into his hand, and makes a loud sobbing noise into it.

“Grow up,” Gerard says, and that’s all he has to say before he wheels himself away, leaving Mikey standing there openly weeping. Left all alone in his own living room, feeling like a stranger to the person who he grew up with. Feeling like his own brother hates him.

As soon as Gerard makes it known that he’s finished with the conversation, Pete comes swiftly to hold Mikey. He practically falls against him, putting his face into Pete’s shoulder as he cries like he can’t remember ever having cried before. This is the worst part of a relationship, when you know the other is sad and there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s so hard to watch someone you love hurt, and Pete loves both of these goddamn Way’s.

“He’s just so-” Mikey says, gasping into Pete’s shoulder, the shirt now wet and clinging to his skin, not like Pete cares. 

“I know, Mikes. I miss Gerard too.” Somehow, those words make it worse. Because everyone, not just Mikey, can see that Gerard’s not there anymore. That’s just some lifeless shell that carries his skin. Every day he’s tried to deny it, and every day it’s becoming harder, but right now it feels obvious. 

Pete kisses the top of Mikey’s head. The truth is, he’s not like overly mad at Gerard. Obviously, he’s very pissed that Gerard was being mean to his husband, but it’s not like they’re not both going through some shit. He remembers the old Gerard just as fondly as everyone else. He doesn’t think he’s romanticizing the past to say that Gerard was the coolest, nicest guy. He was the dork who bought them Arkham Horror as their housewarming gift, and only helped them set up the Ikea dining room table in order to play it. 

“It’ll be okay,” Pete whispers into Mikey’s hair, and rests his head there, hoping, god does he hope, that it will. 

He can hear Mikey crying, but he’s made it this far, and he’s not going to give it up now. At least not until he’s alone and can’t wallow by himself. Once his door closes behind him, Gerard takes a deep breath, wipes away his tears. He sits in his chair, and stares at nothing for a bit, his vision becoming entirely blurry as he focuses out. 

Gerard doesn’t feel drunk anymore, or maybe he feels too drunk. All he knows is that he needs to get in his bed and cry there for like three hours. He pulls himself over to his bed, and then out of his chair onto it, feeling relief as he clambers in. He has to physically pull his legs onto the bed with his own two hands, because they’ll just dangle off of it. He breathes in deeply for a second, and maybe he won’t cry Maybe he’ll be fine. He looks up at the ceiling, watches as the ceiling fan that he never turns off hypnotizes him for a few seconds. But then he coughs with a swarm of sobs coming with it. 

How did it all get so bad? So many things were lost that day. How do you keep going knowing that the paralysis wasn’t the short end of the stick? When there’s everyone in the world to blame, and you can’t scream loud enough? If everything you have is taken from you, what’s the point in holding on to everything else? God, has it really gotten this bad?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes to you on the 50TH ANNIVERSARY OF SCOOBY DOO, HAPPY SCOOBY DOO DAY YALL!!!!


	3. Lost in the Fold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Help) I need somebody (Help).

Gerard stays in bed until well past noon. It’s not that abnormal for him, in all fairness. Sometimes, if he doesn’t feel the need to pee, he won’t get out of bed until dinner. Usually not the case, but it has happened. He put a TV in here, so he can watch his soap operas, and when he’s got the TV and his phone, why should he need to get out of bed?

Except, today. He woke up closer to nine and he’s been lying in his bed all the while. Just thinking. It was one of those long nights. The kind that seem to take forever. He didn’t get a whole lot of sleep. There’s a certain feeling when your eyes are too heavy to sleep. When your bones are so full of drowsiness that you can’t get to bed. Last night was that, only coupled with spiraling thoughts that wouldn’t go away even when he tried. It was the kind of disparity that even jacking off doesn’t do a whole lot to help.

He’d fallen asleep maybe at about six in the morning, but that didn’t last long. Gerard rolls over a couple dozen times, playing this app or that app on his phone, until the need to pee reaches a breaking point.

For most people, you just get out of bed and walk to the bathroom, but it’s not that easy for Gerard. Two minutes of rolling around in bed, trying to grab his chair which is somehow just out of reach, and then pulling himself into it. Doors are always very tricky, especially when they open inwards, which the door to Gerard’s room does. Then there’s the hallway. It’s a process. It’s become easier with time, but for nearly thirty years of his life, Gerard has been able to stand up to get to the bathroom and that was all he needed to do. Times have changed him.

During and after, a tedious process that no one save him should ever need to know the intricacies of. Ultimately, he ends up looking at himself in the mirror, only his head and shoulders are in the frame of the big bathroom mirror, because the accident took a couple of inches off, namely, however long his legs were. He doesn’t look very good, but he never does nowadays. He could shave, that’s for sure. He’s gone much longer than this without a haircut, but his hair is kind of gross. Gerard has never been big on showers, they’ve never really been for him. Harder now, he’s more of a bath guy. He doesn’t take those that often either. It used to be a bi-weekly thing, but now, Gerard’s close family and friends are lucky if it’s a weekly thing. It’s a lot of work to get yourself into a bathtub when you’re handicapped. Stronger and smarter people than he have no trouble with it, but Gerard has kind of given up hope for anything in his life. 

He looks at the razor next to the sink. Then he looks at the toothbrushes in the little cup. He looks at the hairbrush. He decides to forego all of these options to go eat toast. 

He rolls himself out of the bathroom, which is far easier said than done. The bathroom is easily the most difficult room to get out of, because this house is probably about sixty or seventy years old, and it was definitely not built for people in wheelchairs, so all the hallways and doorframes are narrow, but the bathroom specifically is so small that you can’t change your mind once you enter it. Once you’re inside of the bathroom, you’re inside of it, and you can’t turn back around, and that’s when you _aren’t_ in a wheelchair. When you are in a wheelchair, there’s no space on either side of the door to get it open, so he has to take the door head on, and it’s a nightmare every time. And that’s _after_ the renovation. It’s still an impossible room to get in and out of, but hey at least the bathtub is easy to get into. Honestly, sometimes he just holds it in so as not to go through all the goddamn trouble. 

After several moments of arguing with the door, Gerard manages to get it opened. He wishes he could kick the door, but his feet don’t work so he just smacks it on his way out, which is not smart, because it is an inanimate object that happens to be made out of wood so his hand hurts now. He rolls himself in the direction of the kitchen, thankful to have the house to himself right now, while Mikey and Pete are both off at work. 

Or at least that’s what Gerard had thought until he rolls into the kitchen and Mikey is sitting there, laptop in front of him. It feels like that moment when he was a kid when he faked being sick and started singing and dancing around the house, but his mom was down stairs the entire time, and he got taken into school in his pajamas that day three hours after school had started to teach him a lesson. But this is not his mom, this is Mikey, and no offense to their mom, but he’s probably just slightly more important. Mikey was his best friend for his entire childhood, and still is today, and yes, his mom did offer to let him stay with her after the accident, but it was far less demeaning to live with his brother than his mom. And Mikey is also his single favorite person on this planet, even though it didn’t really seem that way last night.

“Hey,” Gerard says, because he was the asshole, so he should say something first. Not like Mikey wasn’t also an asshole, but Gerard sure did start and then further escalate it. Gerard gets angry when he’s angry. And he’s always fucking angry. Full on Hulk all hours of the day.

“Hey,” Mikey says, and he closes his laptop screen. He doesn’t sound particularly angry, like he’s clinging onto the argument like he did last night, and Gerard is very grateful for that. There was a time when they would almost compete on how long they could hold a grudge or still be angry at each other for. Mikey embarrassed Gerard in front of his girlfriend at the time and Gerard didn’t speak to him for two weeks. Gerard forgot to pick Mikey up after school one day and it was nearly a month of silent treatment. They were professionals at it. But they grew up, because it’s harder to get away with shit like that when you pay taxes.

“I fucked up, Mikey,” Gerard says, stopping himself in front of the table where he usually sits, because they pulled away one of the chairs that used to be at the table so that Gerard could slot his wheelchair in there.

“Yeah,” Mikey says. “I kind of did too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know, and I am too.” Mikey says. It’s still super uncomfortable, but at least they’re not screaming at each other.

“You shouldn’t have taken off work because of this, Mikes,” Gerard says. Mikey has already missed so much work because of him. Though to be fair, Gerard’s not really one to be giving Mikey life advice.

“I wasn’t really in the state of mind to go in,” Mikey shrugs. Gerard thinks that for a lot of his life, Mikey has had to be the level headed one. Because they’ve both struggled through some shit, but Gerard’s the one who’s allowed to be loud about it. He gets to make a scene and be overdramatic and sad, and Mikey kind of has to keep it together. Paraplegia gives you a couple of rights so as to make up for the fact that it takes most of them away. All of a sudden you have a good reason to complain about things and be depressed whenever you want. 

All of that sort of came out last night. Gerard’s externally combusting, and Mikey’s a little more internal.

He can’t help but to look back. Mikey is everything to him. How he could ever have said the shitty things he said to him will haunt him forever, because god does Mikey means everything to him. He’s never had a better best friend, not even Ray comes close. A year ago, it seemed like things were picking up for the both of them. 

“I never meant for things to get this bad,” Gerard says.

Mikey lets the room breathe for several seconds. Maybe even a few minutes. He looks at the table, not quite at Gerard, his eyebrows wrinkled together.

“You’re not doing well, Gerard,” he says finally.

“I know,” Gerard nods.

“You’re like… do you ever look at yourself?”

“I try not to.”

“It would probably make you sad. As sad as I am when I see what you’re doing to yourself.”

“I know,” Gerard says, because he does. He does know.

“You know, right after it happened, I was talking to the doctor and he told me it was rare for people not to find a therapist after things like this. She assured me that you’d want to do that. Because she said it was important, that you’d need it. But every time I’ve asked you, you just keep putting it off. Well, Gerard. This time, I’m not going to let you put it off anymore. You need help, and I can’t give it to you. I don’t have the tools, the knowhow, I don’t have it. And I want you to stop hating yourself.”

Gerard takes a deep breath. Those are some of the softest hard words to hear he could imagine. Mikey isn’t telling him to pack his bags, he’s not saying he hates Gerard, or that he doesn’t care anymore. He’s saying he cares a lot for Gerard, and wants him to get better, but it’s still really hard when someone says that they see your cracks. 

“You understand what I’m saying, right, Gee?”

“Yeah, I do,” Gerard nods. “It’s not that I disagree… It’s just, it’s hard to hear.”

“I know it’s hard, Gerard. I hate, I hate admitting when I need help. Pete will attest to that. I’d keep a bullet in if it meant avoiding asking for help, and I know you’re the same, cause you’re my brother. So, like, I know it’s hypocritical of me to say I think you need help, but like, I’m not a therapist, and I don’t know anything that comes close, and you need someone who can actually help you, and that’s not me.”

“I understand,” Gerard says. He’s found a little grain of wood in the table to look at. It’s just him and that grain of the world, a staring contest at the end of the world. 

“Gerard, you’re not looking at me?” Mikey says.

“I’m just… you know,” Gerard makes a hand gesture and hopes that Mikey understands. 

“Yeah,” he says, because he does understand. “What I wanted to talk about yesterday is kind of… well, along similar lines.”

“Really stacking everything on me all at once,” Gerard says actually looking up at Mikey. It’s sometimes weird how Mikey looks the same as him but shaped a little differently. He’s got the same nose, same eyes, same eyebrows, same everything. But it’s like two different people got all the same parts and put them on their two heads differently. Mikey’s got a thinner face, a stronger jaw, Gerard has softer eyes, a more upturned nose. They are so clearly cut from the same cloth. 

“I didn’t know how much we both needed to hear it until last night.”

“Okay. Well let’s have it then.” He’s not mad at Mikey. He never really feels mad at Mikey, for a logical reason that is. He gets angry with Mikey for a lot of stupid and dramatic reasons, but not for anything real. Not when Mikey is as smart as he is, which is to say, extremely. 

“I think you should get a job instead of hanging around here all day. It’s only making you worse. You can’t honestly care about The Young and the Reckless.”

“My old job… the board game store, they shut down. Fucking Jeff Bezos.”

“There are in fact more places to work than a board game store, Gerard.”

Growing up, the two of them were sure they were going to be in a band together. Or maybe write comic books. And things might have been going according to plan, in all honesty. Gerard was still just a freelancer with a job in a board game store to get by, but he was close. Closer and closer, every day. The last time Gerard interviewed there, Cartoon Network looked like they might have been softening a little bit to Gerard’s repeated applying. Mikey got a job at a record company. Things really were starting to smooth out. 

We all fall from grace sometimes. 

It’s harder when he doesn’t have anything, to know that Mikey genuinely loves what he’s doing, working at a record company like he had talked about when they were kids. And you can see it on his face that Mikey loves it, loves his life. Because honestly? So did Gerard. Gerard liked working at a board game store and getting to teach people how to play games on RPG nights. He liked going out and throwing his art at walls like spitballs to see what would stick. He liked that he had started writing his first comic book that no one would ever want to buy, because it was stupid and weird. He liked making voice memos of himself singing and putting that into a little folder in his mind for the band he was going to start someday.

Mikey has everything going for him. Good job, good money, a loving husband, a pretty nice house considering the fact that neither of them ever thought they’d have enough money to live in a real house. Mikey and Pete were even talking about getting a dog. And then Gerard moved in and he ruined everything. Mikey would never say it, and he may not believe it, but Gerard knows that he did ruin it. He ruined everything for a lot of people. 

“I can find a job,” Gerard nods. They both know that Gerard does not need the money. He has the money to live on his own for quite a few years without needing to get a job. That’s what those wrongful death settlements will do for you, but that’s a joke that everyone has told Gerard he shouldn’t make anymore.

“It’ll give you something to do,” Mikey says, nodding, like he’s trying to talk Gerard into doing something he’s already convinced him to do. Your soaps aren’t making you feel any better. 

“How are you planning to schlep me to all of these places?” Gerard asks, because it’s a legitimate question. “Therapy, work, I thought that PT was already hard enough.”

“Well, Pete and I have been talking it over,” Mikey says, and Gerard doesn’t know why it makes him feel like a child when Mikey says that. He and Pete talked it over. Like parents would for a couple. He and Pete talked it over. Gerard’s fucking pathetic. “We’re both definitely willing to work around whatever schedules we need to, but we also did a little research, and apparently Uber has like, wheelchair rides nowadays? You probably already knew that, but we didn’t.”

Gerard did know that. He has snuck out of the house more than a few times for alcohol and snacks.

“Okay.” Gerard says. “So this isn’t a half-baked plan you came up with last night, is it?”

“No, it’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while. You need a therapist, Gerard, Christ, we all need therapy, but you were in a car accident, you’re in a wheelchair, you lost… well you lost someone important.”

“Yeah. I really do not need to be reminded of all that I lost.”

“Fuck, sorry, I know. But anyway, it’s time to, I don’t know? Take back control of your life?”

“By letting you take control of my life?”

“I’m only like,” Mikey huffs, and Gerard actually gives him a real genuine smile because he can see the gears turning in Mikey’s head right now. “I’m trying to give you the tools that you can use to take back control of your life… by taking a bit of control of your life, yes, but only because you’re too dumb to do it by yourself.”

“Thanks, little bro,” Gerard says, and Mikey makes a face at him. Gerard decides to get gushy but only because that’s what the two of them need right now, is just for him to get a little gushy. “No, _actually_ thanks little bro.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's me, your friendly neighborhood author asking for you to leave comments. You all know how much I love it. And also, ya girl got My Chemical Romance tickets!

**Author's Note:**

> Wow... don't you already have like a million fics started, Helena? Shouldn't you focus on those first? 
> 
> Anyway, if you want to design cover art for this I'll dedicate the story to you and you'll receive a steaming mug of undying love.


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